


Simply

by lovelyspacegay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gay, Hunters, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyspacegay/pseuds/lovelyspacegay
Summary: Dean Winchester grew up in a cookie cutter home. White picket fence, perfect green lawn, abuse, football on Sundays, a near-constant smell of fresh cookies. His father used to beat them all into submission, until the day that his mother couldn't take it anymore. Castiel Novak found Dean in a drug den, convulsing and frothing at the mouth. He saved his life, but there was so much more to that addict than he could have ever imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

"Hey kiddo." His mother's voice was sweet as the dew on flower petals after a cold night. He opened his sleepy eyes and smiled up at her. 

"Morning, Mom," he yawned. 

"Your brother just left for his soccer game. I was thinking we could make breakfast together?" she suggested. He brightened and nodded. She kissed the top of his head and went down to the kitchen. He threw off the covers and stretched. He was just at the top of the stairs when the sound of shattering glass sent him scurrying back into his room. He jumped into the closet and cowered against the wall. He was so used to hiding in it for hours on end that he had a pillow and blanket at the ready. His mother screamed.

"Where are you, Dean?!" A slurred voice echoed through the house. His father's heavy footfalls stamped up the stairs and he flinched at every impact. He barely moved, barely even breathed. But he slipped and his shoulder crashed into the closet door. His father threw it open and grinned down at him. He could smell the alcohol on his father's breath, his clothes, his hair. His father slid his tongue over his teeth, staring down at his oldest child as if he couldn't see him as anything but a ragdoll for him to throw around. He could swear his father's teeth were fangs and his tongue was forked. "Hey, son," he said and pulled him out by his hair.

\-----

Dean jerked awake. Memories of his childhood still haunted him at night. His father had left bruises and scars where no one could see, where his reputation wouldn't be marred. He beat the whole family into his mold, his perfect idea of the perfect family. To the outside eye, they really were perfect. Both brothers were at the top of their class. Their house always looked neat but homey, a warm smell of cookies always spreading out whenever the doors or windows were open. But inside, it was a horror scene. Their father, a respected community figure, would keep the boys awake studying until dawn. He would keep his wife up to scrub the floors with bleach once a week, cleaning until her hands were bloodied and her nails were worn off. The whole family was bruised and bloodied, but their pain was hidden under pristine clothing. He would accept nothing less than absolute perfection. Dean hadn't seen his little brother Sam in years. When they were just 8 and 12, the boys were taken into state custody and placed in foster homes. They kept running, never staying in the same place long. 

They fought for each other, defended each other. When he was only 15, Dean had to beat a man nearly to death for trying to rape Sammy after he thought Dean was knocked out. The man was big everywhere except where it mattered. But that didn't deter him. He ignored the poor boy's screams, kicks, didn't stop, wouldn't stop... until Dean clocked him with an iron bar. He was crying as he beat him, eyes blurred. Sam pulled the crowbar from his grip and promised him everything was okay. Nothing would ever tear them apart, no matter what.

But on his 12th birthday, Sammy grew tired of running. He grew tired of living off of dumpster food, hiding in abandoned buildings. He wanted a home. Dean couldn't blame him. So he slipped away into the satin night and Sam stayed behind. The family was nice enough, their house small but cozy. But it wasn't home, not like what Dean knew. So he kept running. Now, he lived in a filthy hovel, a poor excuse for any sort of shelter. But it protected him from the wind and rain, so it was more than many could ask for. 

"Happy birthday to me," Dean mumbled. He had been working odd jobs for months, and finally scrimped and saved enough money for a new jacket, a few small candles, and a crumbling cupcake. The candles flickered, casting haunting shadows on the walls. The frosting glinted in the low light, and he blew the candles out. 18 at last. Two years alone, on the run, hiding from social workers. Now they couldn't take him anymore. He was free. He took a slow, savoring bite of his cupcake and closed his eyes dreamily. He hadn't had anything so delicious and carefully prepared since he had been at home, and as much as he wished he could savor it, he wolfed it down in the blink of an eye.

"Winchester!" a voice slurred. The lazy, slow speech shook Dean to the core, but he remembered it couldn't be his father. It wasn't possible. And he was right. A slight, sickly man with yellow hair and teeth of the same hue stumbled in. He sighed.

"Garth." Dean acknowledged his friend with a solemn nod. The skeleton crumpled down beside him. 

"Do you have the..." His voice trailed off. It sounded like nails being dragged across a chalkboard. Dean fished a plastic bag out of his pocket. It was filled with a thin offwhite powder. Garth grinned his sickly grin.

"Do you want to share?" he asked and passed over the money. Dean flipped through it and shrugged. He hadn't had a proper high in weeks. Garth dug through his pockets and pulled out two tarnished silver spoons and a half empty bottle of water. Dean provided the syringes, unused and clean, of course. Garth tapped out a bit of the powder onto the spoons and sucked up some of the water with a syringe, draining into the spoons to mix with the powder. Dean rifled through his meager belongings until he found a lighter. It flickered to life and Garth lit it under the spoons, melting the mixture into an amber solution. Dean tapped his arm, looking for a good vein. 

Garth absorbed the potent drug into a syringe and passed it to him. Dean pressed the needle into his arm without flinching. He injected the serum and took a deep breath as it coursed through his veins. His brain flooded with dopamine and he sank back onto his filthy mattress, groaning in simple euphoria.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean! We won!" Sammy bounded into his room but his joy quickly dispersed. "Did he..." he began. Dean looked up at his little brother and wiped the tear streaks from his face.

"I'm proud of you," he said. Sam sat beside him and pulled his lanky legs up onto the bed, crossing his bony ankles. He was growing like a weed, it wouldn't be long before he was taller than Dean. 

"What happened?" Sam asked and gestured to Dean's very prominent black eye. Dean's fingers fluttered up and brushed the swollen flesh. 

"Dad... After he dropped you off, he came home and just lost it. I don't know what happened," Dean explained. Sam frowned and reached out to grab his brother's hand. Dean pulled away quickly.

"You know I'm here for you," he promised. Dean sighed.

"Yeah, Sammy. I know."

\-----

Dean sat up, wiped his mouth. He was disgusted with himself. Garth was still passed out beside him, his breathing short and shallow. He smashed the needle on the ground, the glass shattering into a million tiny pieces. He stared at them, picked up a piece, turned it over in his fingers. It was sharp. He could... no. He needed to stay alive. Maybe Sammy needed him. Maybe someone else would need him.

Garth started to convulse. Dean stared at him with disgust. His pupils had nearly disappeared into those shockingly blue eyes and he stared blankly at the rotting ceiling, body still shaking. He began to vomit all over himself, choking on his own puke. Dean kicked him over onto his side and his puke began to spill all over the ground. He wasn't choking. The dumbass would never even know that Dean had saved his life.

He was scared. God, he was scared. And Dean Winchester never got scared. He knew he was going to die by his habit one day. He was turning into someone he was afraid of. He was violent. He spent too much time losing control, and not nearly enough time trying. He was turning into his father. Dean closed his eyes, searching his memories for something happy. His tenth birthday. That was a good day. Double digits. 

"You're becoming a man now, Dean," his mother said softly. She ruffled his hair. Little Sammy bounded in wearing his beloved Batman pajamas, shaggy hair tangled and matted on one side. 

"Mama, is it time for Dean's preeeesent?" Sammy asked, tugging at their mother's apron. She smiled, nodded. He disappeared into the coat closet and came back with a large box, wrapped in spotted red and blue paper and topped with a yellow bow. 

"Is Daddy coming?" Dean asked hopefully. Their mother sighed. 

"He... he's going to try to come, honey. He's not back from his hunting trip yet." Her lips pulled into a tight smile. Dean was disappointed, but he understood. Their father loved hunting, he loved coming back home with some sort of prize. Usually deer, sometimes ducks. But if the hunt was unsuccessful... it didn't matter. He was a man now. He could take care of his family, even if it meant protecting them from his father.

He pawed over Garth's limp body for another hit. Something, anything. He couldn't think. It was too much. Small, colorful pills were in his front pocket. Acid. He had never tried it, only heard bad things, terrible things, but he didn't care. The real world was too much. He popped one into his mouth and sunk down onto the thin mattress, waiting, waiting, waiting. He stared at the crumpled cupcake wrapper, and tossed it into a dismal waste heap in the corner. 

When the trip finally hit, he didn't even care. He still stared at that damned cupcake wrapper. It morphed into a tree, a bee with the face of his little brother, his little brother with the face of a bee. Then just Sammy. Screaming, sobbing, begging to be saved with those sad eyes. He tried to tear his eyes away, but everywhere he looked, he only saw Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, increasingly distorted like a goddamn fun house mirror. What a birthday. He screamed into his hands and cowered in the corner, trembling violently and trying to swat away the voices that plagued him like mosquitoes. 

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, it was dark. Garth was gone. He left a note and a pouch. "Happy birthday, Dean-o," it read. The bag was full to the brim of that damned yellow powder. Tomorrow. He would get high again... tomorrow. He just needed rest. He just needed rest.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke up in his sleep by Sammy shaking him roughly. Tears were streaming down his face. "Daddy hit Mama and now she's not moving!" Sam wailed. Dean shot up, grabbed his brother. 

"Where is she?" he demanded. 

"K-Kitchen," Sam sputtered. Dean raced downstairs. His father was cradling Mary, cooing over her, stroking her limp hair. Dean stopped short in his tracks. 

"If you say a goddamn word to anyone, you will never speak again," his father said, without even looking at him. Dean backed away and ran upstairs.

\-----

"Dean!" Sam shook him awake. Dean jumped. He looked around. He was in... his room? Sunlight streamed in through clean windows. His brother grinned down at him, his tongue prodding the new gap between his teeth. "I lost my last baby tooth!"

Dean sat up slowly, looking around. "What day is it?"

"Saturday," Sam frowned. Dean shook his head.

"No, Sammy, the date. What's the date?" he demanded.

"It's... it's your birthday, dude. January 24. Are you feelin' okay?" His little brother's eyebrows knit together in concern. He pressed the back of his hand to Dean's forehead. Dean whacked him away. 

"I'm great." He climbed out of bed, folded the covers up into perfection, smoothed them down. Sam laughed.

"Are you sure? You never make your bed, Mom always has to do it," he smiled. Dean squinted at him suspiciously.

"It's one of Dad's rules though..." His voice trailed off. Sammy's lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head. 

"Like you ever even listened to Dad's rules when he was alive," he snapped and stalked out of his room. Dean stared after him. Dad... John was dead? Had he imagined the last six years? Dreamed it? He started out of his room, downstairs. The house was decorated for his birthday. Streamers dangled from the ceiling, balloons floated aimlessly. He inhaled deeply. It smelled like his mother's blueberry pancakes. He went into the kitchen and stared at the blond woman standing at the kitchen. She was humming "Hey, Jude". It couldn't be.

"Dean!" she smiled and turned around. It was his mother, almost exactly as he remembered her, but with more smile lines around her blue eyes and a few streaks of grey complimenting her blond hair. She wiped her hands on her apron and held them out to him. "Happy 18th birthday. I hope you're not too cool to hang out with your family on your big day?" she said hopefully. He took her hands. They were soft, delicate. 

"Never too cool for you, Mom," he smiled. She returned the smile and squeezed his hands, then turned back to her cooking. He watched her flip the pancakes onto plates and carry them over to the table.

"It's time for my magic formula," she grinned and turned her back to him. Sam walked in, offered a lopsided smile. 

"Are the pancakes ready?" he asked. She smiled and gestured to the plates on the table. Both boys rushed over hungrily. A fat pat of butter was melting on top of their stacks and syrup was carefully drizzled on top. Cinnamon dusted the concoction. Dean dug his fork in and started wolfing it down. Six years. The number rang through his head, but he ignored it and kept eating. Each bite was a small explosion of flavor, blueberries placed evenly throughout like small treasures. He didn't remember the last time he tasted something as delicious as those pancakes. Not even that cupcake he had... or that he had dreamed about. Everything was still fuzzy. Sam started eating too. Their mom just smiled, refilling their plates or glasses without hesitation. That smile... something seemed off. It looked painted on, fake. Her hair was too perfectly curled, her clothes too neat. She looked like a doll. She pointed that plastic smile at Dean and opened her mouth. 

"Hey!" she yelled. It wasn't her voice. It was a rough voice, the voice of a man. John? No, not quite. Lower. He turned to Sam. 

"Sammy, did you-" he began.

"Wake up!" Sam yelled in that same voice. 

Dean covered his eyes. "No, no, no..." He just wanted to be happy, was that too much to ask? As he stumbled away from the kitchen, trying to escape the yelling, his body lurched and his breathing turned rough and ragged. He heaved and doubled over, coughing and gasping. Then everything turned black.


	4. Chapter 4

"Who found her like this?" Dean heard his father say. He pushed through the crowd of onlookers. A body dangled from the old oak tree in their front yard. It wore a white nightgown with small pink flowers sewn into the hem. He knew that nightgown. 

"Mom!" Dean shrieked. His father turned on him. 

"Son, go inside," he growled. Dean shook his head. "Did you just deny me, boy?"

"What happened to her?" he screamed, tugging on her foot. Her skin was cold.

"I'll tell you later. Go inside with your brother before I make you regret it," his father warned. Dean puffed out his chest.

"You won't hurt me! Not in front of all these people!" he stated confidently. That look in his father's eye was dangerous. He raised his hand and slapped Dean across the face so hard he crumpled to the ground. The neighbors all stared in a mix of shock and awe. John Winchester, model citizen, had just hit his boy without a moment's hesitation. Dean whimpered and dragged himself inside. He stared at his mother's body. It swung in the slight breeze. Why had no one taken her down yet? Why was everyone staring?

"Dean?" Sammy tugged his sleeve. "Is Mama okay?"

"No, Sammy. She's not."

\-----

Castiel Novak wasn't a man of many words. He worked with people who were suffering from addictions and mental disorders. He diagnosed them and helped them cope. He let them rant for hours on end. It was his life's mission, he had always known it. One day, he met a young addict named Anna Milton. Her once-bright red hair was falling out and clumped unevenly around her skull. Her teeth were nearly rotted out of her head. Her dark eyes were sunken and yellowed. Amphetamines of any and all sorts had destroyed the young girl's life. But she accepted his treatment, and slowly but surely she began the road to recovery.

On a soft Saturday morning, Castiel sat drinking his coffee and reading his new book. Sunlight illuminated his office. Without so much as a knock, Anna burst in. "Mr. Novak, I found my boyfriend. He... he's in a drug den. Please help him. He's going to die!" she pleaded desperately. He started, then looked up at her.

"Ms. Milton, I'm not a police officer. I don't know how I can help," he said gently. She stared up at him. 

"Just... go find him. Bring him into the treatment center. Something. He won't listen to me," Anna begged. Castiel sighed, rubbed his forehead. 

"Where is he?"

A few hours later, Castiel was on his way to a drug den in the worst part of town. He followed the address Anna gave him to a crumbling cement building surrounded by dead grass and a half-erect wire fence. He climbed carefully over it to the door. It swung open and he was assaulted with the vile scents of human waste and decomposition. He groaned and stepped inside. Limp bodies lay all over the ground, breathing gently. He checked his wallet for the photo of Anna's boyfriend that she had given him. He had a surprisingly youthful face, ears that seemed too big for his head, and an innocent smile. What was his name? Garth?

"Garth," Castiel called out softly. He gently rolled people over, comparing their features to those in the picture, but nobody looked like the Garth of the photo. He stepped into a room that seemed set apart from everything else, where a young man lay on a filthy mattress. His new jacket didn't match the dismal surroundings. But something was wrong. He was convulsing and frothing at the mouth. Oh god. He was overdosing.

Castiel shook the boy roughly. "Hey!" he cried desperately, rattling him around. The boy's eyes rolled back into his head and he drooled. "Wake up!" The boy started shaking. Castiel shivered at what he was about to do, and stuck two fingers down the boy's throat. If he had ingested the drugs orally, that might drag him out of it. He vomited over Castiel's hand and his eyes opened slowly. He gagged on the fingers down his throat and Castiel pulled away. 

"Who are... you...?" the young man asked weakly. His green eyes looked sad. "Are you an angel?" Those shocking eyes rolled back again and he fell limp in Castiel's grasp. He pulled out his phone and called for an ambulance. He still had to find Garth, but he couldn't let that young man lose his life to drugs like so many others. He would save his life. It was his life's mission.


	5. Chapter 5

Their mother's funeral was on a Sunday. Dean had never seen bubbly little Sammy so quiet. Their father kept his hands on their shoulders, a pathetic attempt at being comforting. Dean had attempted to shrug him off more than once, but his grip tightened every time until he felt bruises forming under his father's fingers. 

Later that evening, their father was drunk. The boys were locked in their rooms, staring at the walls. It was enough to drive a boy mad. A social worker came to their house, a nice lady named Ellen, and knocked for nearly 15 minutes before their father freed them from their prisons and dressed them properly for a good first impression. She seemed surprised by the drunk father and the two well dressed, well mannered boys. 

"I'm here to remove Sam and Dean Winchester from this household and place them in foster care," she said. Her voice had a sweet country accent. 

"Like hell, you are!" their father slurred.

"Sir, I have every right to take these boys," she retorted and bent down so she was at eye level with them. "Go get your things. We'll leave in fifteen minutes."

"Make it ten," Dean murmured and raced upstairs. He took out a suitcase and threw in all of his earthly belongings, except for those formal clothes his father had purchased for when they had visitors. He hated those. He grabbed his only stuffed animal, a ratty kangaroo, and clutched it close. He lugged the case downstairs. Sammy was already waiting. John was in the kitchen, drowning himself in whiskey.

"Let's go, boys," Ellen said and guided them out the door. They were free.

\-----

Dean woke up in a hospital. His vitals spiked as he jerked at the IV tubes in his arm. They felt strange and foreign. He hadn't felt so well rested in... well, ever. A tired-looking man slept beside his bed. Dean watched him for a moment. Rough stubble dotted his jaw. Dark hair fell over his forehead. The man opened his eyes when the monitors started beeping.

"You're awake," he said in surprise. The voice was the same one from his dream, hallucination, whatever. It was gravelly but sweet. Dean stared at him. The man had blue eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he looked into the eyes of someone who wasn't poisoned by drugs. Those eyes were clean, pure, healthy. 

"Where am I?" Dean asked. Stupid question, he thought.

"The hospital. You were overdosing. You threw up on my hand and called me angel," the man joked. Dean glared at him.

"How do you know I didn't want to die?" he growled. 

The man tilted his head, stared right back at him with those eyes. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

"You're damn fucking right! I'm a shit person, I deserved to die back in that hellhole!" Dean raised his voice. His vitals spiked again. 

"No one deserves to die like that, and I'm sure you don't. How old are you, twenty? You couldn't have done anything that bad," the man said. His eyebrows knit together, like Sammy's used to when he was upset.

"I'm eighteen," he snapped and focused straight ahead. 

"Well, Mr. Eighteen-year-old, my name is Dr. Castiel Novak. I'm a drug and alcohol abuse counselor. Since I found you, I've been assigned to your case. Care to tell me your name, or are you just going to be an angst-y teenage shit?" Castiel asked. He was irritated with the boy already. Jeez. Only 18 and almost dead from drugs.

"Dean," he murmured, still staring straight ahead. 

"Your name is Dean?"

"No, I just like saying random words when people ask my name."

Castiel sighed. Such a fucking teenager. "Well, Dean, it's nice to meet you."

Dean decided to change his approach. Being cold wouldn't get him anywhere. Might as well warm up. So he flashed him a prize-winning smile. It gave Castiel a strange feeling in his stomach. "Nice to meetcha, Cas." His voice wasn't low and dangerous anymore. It sounded younger, more playful. 

Freckles. He had a spray of freckles across his nose. It looked like God had taken a paintbrush and just- flick. A little sprinkle of perfection. What was that? Castiel mentally slapped himself. The kid is eighteen. Dean smirked like he could read his thoughts, and he realized that he had turned bright red. Great.

"So, Cas. How'd you find me?" Dean asked. His casual use of the nickname was definitely something else. 

"I was looking for someone named Garth. He's dating one of my patients, and she said that he would be there. You're lucky I found you. If I had been five minutes later, you would be dead." Castiel studied Dean's face. He noticed how he sagged when he said Garth's name. "You don't... know Garth. Do you?"

"I sell him drugs. I saved him from killing himself yesterday. I guess he got too high and didn't know when to come back down. I didn't even know the guy had a girlfriend," Dean said quietly.

"Do you have any idea where he could be now?" Castiel asked hopefully. Dean shrugged.

"I don't know where he goes, I just know that he buys from me on Tuesdays. Speaking of which, what day is it?" he inquired.

"It's Friday. You were out for a while, they had to pump your stomach and keep you full of nutrients. If the drugs didn't get you, the malnutrition would have," Castiel frowned. Dean rubbed his hand over his concave stomach, fingers brushing his protruding ribs. He probably looked like shit.

"Can you help me out of this damn bed? I want to check myself out." Dean winked. Castiel nodded, wrapped his fingers around a skinny arm. Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and clutched tightly onto the IV pole. Together, they slowly shuffled to the bathroom. Dean nearly gasped when he saw himself. His gaunt cheeks were fuzzy with a short brown beard. His eyes were sunken in so deep they were nearly invisible. His hair was thin and patchy. "I look like death."

"Kind of, yeah," Castiel admitted. Dean shot him a death glare. Castiel smiled. "Don't worry. Soon enough, we'll get you fixed up."

"Yeah, sure. Just get me back to bed."


	6. Chapter 6

"We're getting out of here tonight, Sammy," Dean's voice was low. He watched under the foster parents' door for any sign of movement, but the lights had gone out 15 minutes ago. He looked back at Sam. The kid had gotten skinny since they were placed into foster care. He had lost his chubby baby face, and now his face looked tight and drawn. His eyes were so tired.

"Dean, I don't wanna go," Sam pleaded weakly. Dean shot him a dangerous glare.

"We don't have a choice. They're psychos. They locked us in the basement!" he argued.

"I just wanna sleep!" he begged. Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the hallway. Heavy backpacks were slung over their shoulders. Sam dragged his feet but followed his big brother to the front door. He gently touched the old, peeling wallpaper and just like that, they slipped away into the darkness. 

They didn't last long on the run. They always got caught. They were too young to be inconspicuous, just eleven and fifteen. Dean couldn't get a steady job yet, but he made money working odd jobs as a busboy or, for one summer, a caddie in some rich country club. The boys stayed in an abandoned shack that used to hold the clubs when they weren't being used. They got ratted out when some older boy and his girlfriend tried to sneak in and... you know... while the Winchesters were sleeping. They were definitely freaked out when they saw eyes peering at them through the shadows.

But someday, they wouldn't have to run, and they could live on their own. Dean could legally become Sammy's guardian, and they would be free. Someday. They just had to last that long. 

\-----

After a week in the hospital, Dean was relocated to the Betty Ford Center where Cas worked. When he wasn't in therapy sessions or eating, he was working out. It didn't take long for him to bulk up. He spent all his free time in the gym, long past when he was supposed to be in there. Since he was an otherwise tolerable patient, the nurses didn't really care what he did. But he always considered his one-on-one sessions with Castiel to be the highlight of his day.

"Good morning, Dean. You're looking well today," Cas greeted him one day. Dean looked down at himself, quickly checked his reflection in the shiny flower vase on the "crying and Kleenex table", as Cas called it. He didn't look any different, did he?

"How so?" he asked, plopping down in a chair opposite Cas.

"You've certainly gained weight and muscle since your time here. You look your age, rather than a forty year old convict who's never seen the sun," Cas remarked. Dean grinned. 

"Gee, thanks, doc. What do you feel like talking about today?" Dean ran his fingers over his scruffy hair. 

"Well, we've talked about your childhood and ghosted over the topic of your brother, but I want to talk about what you were doing in that drug den," Castiel said, picking up his notepad and a pen.

"I was getting high," Dean said dryly. 

"How did you get there?"

"I was selling to most of the people in there, getting high sometimes. The day before you showed up, I had been celebrating my shitty birthday. Funny that..." he trailed off. 

"What's funny?" Cas asked, leaning forward eagerly. 

"When I was... overdosing, I guess, I had a trip, a dream, hallucination, whatever. In it, it was my birthday. But I was home. And my mom wasn't dead, my dad was. He was dead and we were free. We were happy. Sam was so handsome, Cas, he was growing up so well. He looked like a kid instead of an old man on the run. My mom made my favorite breakfast, but something felt wrong, and I ignored it. I knew it couldn't have been real, but I didn't pull myself out. I stayed in that damn fantasy. You woke me up. I heard your voice through it all." Dean looked about ready to cry, and he was embarrassed. He hadn't cried since he had arrived at the rehab center, and... well, maybe he had, but he hadn't cried in front of anybody. 

"You can cry." Dean felt a hand on his knee. He looked up. Cas was smiling comfortingly. He had so many questions, but they could wait. For god's sake, Dean was a kid. He didn't need so much pressure on him. And with that, the floodgates opened. Dean cried, and cried, and cried. He was heaving and his face was snotty. Cas passed him a tissue and he tried to clean himself up, but it just smeared. He was like a messy little kid, crying for his mom. He was though, wasn't he? 

Castiel knew it was breaking almost every rule that he could think of, but he moved next to Dean. He held him. For a long time, it was silent except for Dean's quiet sobbing. Dean cried into Castiel's sweater and he held him close. He probably hadn't felt any gentle human affection like that in years. Then, suddenly, Dean pulled away. He looked ashamed. Cas felt himself flush, but ignored it and passed him the tissue box. He cleaned himself up and got up to throw the tissues away.

"I have just one question, Dean. Then you can go. I don't want to push you." Cas looked up at him. Dean just nodded. "Why did you ask if I was an angel?"

Dean laughed softly. "That's, uh... that's embarrassing. I was laying on the ground, looking up at you. The way the light was coming through the window, it made you look like you were glowing. I thought I was saved by an angel." 

Cas smiled appreciatively. "Thank you." Dean returned the smile, wiped his eyes, and left.


	7. Chapter 7

"DEAN!" Sammy screamed. The fat old man pressed Sam's nose into the table and yanked down his pants. His thick sausage fingers caressed Sam's innocent flesh. Dean lay in the corner, completely immobile. 

"Don't worry my sweet, he's next," the man grunted. His giant stomach protruded out past his shriveled tiny penis. Sam kicked, screamed, begged for mercy, but the man ignored him. Dean rustled slightly. Sam pleaded with his mind for something, someone to save him. He didn't notice that Dean was crawling across the floor slowly, so slowly it was almost immeasurable, towards a metal pipe laying not far behind the tragic occurrence happening on that table. The man licked his thin lips as he stared at Sam beneath him.

"Go to hell!" A loud thunk and the man fell to the ground. He just seemed stunned. Dean stood over him and brained him with the pipe. His eyes bulged and blood poured out. Dean couldn't stop. His head was crushed and Dean was screaming by the time Sam managed to pry the bar out of his hands. 

"Dean. Dean, it's over. Dean, look at me," Sam cupped his brother's face. "I'm okay. You're okay. We'll always be okay, as long as we're together. I promise."

\-----

"HELLO, MY DARLING COUNSELOR!" Dean danced into the room. Cas looked up in surprise. He was early. Dean was never early.

"Dean? Are you feeling alright?" he asked worriedly. "Do you have a fever?"

"Unfortunately, no. Not a fever. Just a boyfriend." Dean sat in his usual chair, smiling from ear to ear, right up at Cas. His eyes were shining.

"A... boyfriend?" Cas asked. "I'm sorry to assume, but I thought you were straight. Do I know this boy?"

"Yeah, he's one of your patients, but he's not exactly a boy. His name's Benny. Benny Lafitte." Dean stood up again, like he was too excited to sit. Cas was shocked and vaguely concerned. Benny was nice enough on the outside, and certainly attractive, but old enough to be Dean's father. He was in for an alcohol problem. Benny had often talked about how much he adored younger boys and how they were willing to do anything for a doting older man. He had nearly been arrested for taking a seventeen year old boy across state lines on a "date". The boy's father had apparently consented while his mother wasn't even aware, so the charges were dropped.

"Stay safe," was all he could say. Dean frowned.

"Should I know something?" 

"Stay safe," Cas repeated.

"Cassie."

"Don't call me that, Dean. You can refer to me as Castiel or Mr. Novak. We need to keep an air of professionalism about this," Castiel stated. It made him mad, but he was jealous. He had grown rather fond of Dean, in a distinctly less-than-professional way. Every time he smiled, butterflies came to life inside him. Dean was so flirtatious that he thought he returned the feelings.

Surprisingly, Dean didn't pout, didn't walk away. He just put one hand on either of the arm rests of Castiel's chair and leaned down so they were eye to eye. "Cassie," he grinned. "Cassie, what's wrong? Is little Cassie jealous?"

"My name is Castiel," he said shortly. Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"Cas. Fine. What's up? You doin' okay? You and the missus fighting? No sex?" Dean asked and stayed at eye level. Cas pushed him back gently. 

"I'm gay, so no problem with the missus. And I just don't think a relationship is a great idea in rehab," Cas sighed. Dean's eyes widened. 

"You're gay? I'm gay! We have so much in common!" he grinned and returned to his seat. "I've got an idea. Today, I'll be the therapist. You'll be the patient. You look like you've got some shit to talk about." 

"I don't know if-"

"Hello, Castiel. I'm your therapist. My name is Dean Winchester. Let's start with a bit about you. How old are you?" Dean cleared his throat and crossed his legs, imitating Castiel's position. He grinned.

"Hey, Dean-o. I'm Cas. I'm 25. I'm in here because I'm actually the therapist but I've got a weird patient who felt the need to be the counselor today," Cas said, slumping down in the seat like Dean often did. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Tell me about your love life. Getting fucked regularly?" Dean asked. Cas flushed.

"I, uh, I don't have a love life. I was interested in someone a while ago, but he's taken, so I'm back to being single. It's nothing of interest," Cas admitted. Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"This interest of yours, tell me about him," he pried. Oh no, Cas thought. This could go very poorly.

"He's... younger. He's got these eyes that I could stare into for hours. He's kinda messed up, I suppose, but everyone is in their own way. He's got freckles, I never realized how much I like freckles until I met him," Cas murmured. Dean gently touched the bridge of his nose, where his freckles rested.

"Cas..." he said softly and pulled Cas closer. Thank god his chair had wheels. It glided easily over the tile floor, a little too easily, actually, since they were nearly nose to nose in seconds. 

"Dean," he breathed. That stupid boy, he thought, and kissed him.


	8. Chapter 8

"Come with me," Dean begged. Sam shook his head.

"No. I'm done running. I'm done hiding. I'm done living in these shitty conditions, I'm done. I can't do this Dean. I want to go to school, I want to learn. I want to be a lawyer for god's sake. I can't keep running away with you," Sam declined. Dean was heartbroken.

"You promised!" Dean shouted, shoving him roughly. All of his emotions had compiled into a giant, emotional mess and rolled over him like a tsunami. Sam fell back against the wall. 

"And Mom promised to stay," he countered. Dean shoved him again.

"Don't talk about her! You NEVER talk about her!" he growled and raised his fist to hit him. Then his mind cleared. Oh god, what was he thinking? He lowered his arm and stared at his clenched fist. His fingernails had left little crescent moons in his palm from where they had pressed in so roughly. "Sammy..."

"Just go, Dean. Go like you always do." Sam didn't look at him. So Dean picked up his bag and left. He took a deep breath of the clear night air and disappeared.

\-----

Dean hadn't been to a therapy session since the mistake. That's how Castiel thought of it. He had kissed his patient, a teenager with a boyfriend. Yes, there was only seven years' difference between them, but it was enough. Every once in a while, between sessions, he allowed his thoughts to drift to Dean. How he had leaned into the kiss, how he had groaned like it was a relief. He never thought past that. Never thought about how quickly he had gotten up and left. Never thought about how Benny had casually threatened him at his session. It was too much. 

"Mr. Novak?" A tentative knock sounded at his door. He grunted a reply, and a red haired girl peeked in. Anna. Her session was just before Dean's.

"Anna. Hello." He straightened his tie and sat up straight. She smiled.

"Garth called me yesterday. He told me that he's going to try to get clean. I don't know what you did, but thank you," she said. He didn't have the heart to tell her that Dean had actually taken care of it, threatened to unleash holy hell on him if he didn't respect Anna's wishes for a drug-free life. 

"You're welcome. Come in, come in. It's time for your session," Castiel said and searched for his notepad, failing to realize it was on his lap.

"Mr. Novak, are you feeling okay?" she asked worriedly and sat down. That's where Dean... no. Shut up, shut up, he thought.

"I've been having troubles with someone I'm... someone I was interested in. I haven't seen him in a while after I made a mistake, and I don't know how he feels about me anymore." Jeez. Talk about oversharing. He covered his embarrassment with a smile. "What about you, Anna? You're almost done here. Nearly six months clean."

"I'm excited and proud of myself. I can't wait to go home to Garth and my mom. It's been so long," Anna smiled, twisting her hair in her fingers. She propped her feet up on the small table that separated them. Castiel had bought it the day after his mistake with Dean to prevent that happening ever again. 

"I'm proud of you. So, how was group therapy?"

The session sped by in the blink of an eye. He allowed himself to be immersed in his work. He didn't even realize it was over until he wondered why it had suddenly gotten so quiet. He was alone. Castiel set his notepad and pen aside and loosened his tie. He stood and went into the restroom, examining himself in the mirror. He mussed his carefully gelled hair. It made him look younger and less severe when it was messier. The bags under his eyes were big enough to hide Russia. He sighed and went back to his desk, copying his notes from Anna's session into his computer.

His door swung wide open, and there stood Dean. His clothes hung off of his frame loosely. He had a fading black eye and his nose was bloody. Tears stained his dirty face. He looked just like a child coming home after a fight in a schoolyard. He stepped inside and carefully closed the door.

"Hey Cassie." His voice was rough and low. He walked into the bathroom and began cleaning himself up. Cas gaped after him. 

"What happened?" Cas asked, nearly running over.

"Some fucking junkie got mad at me for checking him out, so he tattled to Benny. He decided that I was a lying whore and needed to be 'disciplined for my own good'," Dean grunted, using air quotes. "The guy wasn't even my type. I'm more into confused therapists who care too much with eyes that look like the damn ocean."

Cas blushed furiously, then cussed at himself. Why did this boy make him feel like this? He recovered quickly. "So, Benny hit you? Did you report it?"

"Nah, he threatened to make it worse if I told anybody. So I came here. Patient-therapist confidentiality right?" 

"I mean, yes. But you should've listened to me. He's bad news. I told you to stay safe."

"Fuck off with your I told you so shit, Cassie."

"I told you so."

"Literally what did I just say?" Dean laughed. Cas laughed, too. Dean's laugh was really just good. 

"You've missed a couple of sessions. I'd like to think we have a lot to talk about," Cas said, retreating to his therapy chair.

"Mmm, we could talk about boring shit, or you could do that thing where you kiss me," Dean suggested.

"Not a terrible idea," Cas agreed and pushed that stupid little table out of the way. He grabbed Dean under the jaw and pulled him close. Their lips connected and there was fire.

And then he woke up.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean didn't know where he was. He had been walking for so long that he couldn't feel his feet. He had lost any sense of direction hours ago. The sun was peeping over the horizon and as he crested a hill, the warm beams shone on his face. He shut his eyes and, just for a moment, imagined that he was okay. He imagined that his family wasn't broken, that his parents and brother were happy and healthy and they were all together. But he had to open his eyes again. He had to let the dream fade.

He happened upon a small town. It looked peaceful, sweet. He slung the backpack off of his shoulder and searched for change. Maybe he could work up enough to get a cup of coffee or maybe even some food. He scrounged through every pocket and crevice and found $5.67. He strolled into the town like he belonged there and walked into a small diner. The lady behind the counter gestured for him to sit anywhere, so he sat at the counter. His legs dangled. 

"What'll it be, sugar?" she asked. She was pretty for an older lady, vaguely reminded him of his mom. She had the same blond hair, smile, even eye color.

"I only have five dollars," he said quietly. She smiled and took the money. 

"Get whatever you want, sugar. I'll cover the extra," she winked. He returned her friendly smile. Maybe things were finally starting to look up.

\-----

Castiel hadn't seen Dean in so long that he almost thought that he had been transferred. He didn't know how Dean had been avoiding his sessions, but he had managed to pull it off for almost two months. Then, one day, Dean was dragged into his office in a stupor. His eyes were glazed and he seemed to not be mentally or spiritually present. Cas examined him closely, decided that he must've found some way to get high again, and he would remain in his office until he came back down.

It was four hours before Dean was back to his old self. Well, sort of. He wouldn't speak to Cas, wouldn't even look at him. He had sat through three sessions in silence, staring blankly at a wall. But he was walking around and looking at all the little knickknacks that dotted the shelves. Finally, the silence became crippling.

"Dean, how did you do it?" Cas asked. Dean didn't say a word. "Dean!"

"Mr. Novak, I got one of my buddies to bring in some acid so I could trip and pretend I was anywhere else. Far away from you, definitely." His words stung.

"I know I messed up, but you need your therapy. You need to get better!" Castiel cried, exasperated. Dean glared at him. His eyes sparked with electricity. 

"I don't need to get better with you," he spat. Cas stood, defiant.

"I'm a damn professional, Dean. I know what you need to recover. I fucked up and I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't know what else you want me to say." Cas raised his voice dangerously. Dean stepped up to him, fuming. Their chests were barely touching, less than a finger's breadth between them. And suddenly, that anger died. His shoulders sagged.

"I... I don't know what I want," he said quietly.

"Then shut up and let me help you!" he nearly shouted. Dean stepped back, ignoring the brief ringing in his ears. 

"Fine." Dean sat in his chair and crossed his legs. "What do you want from me?"

Castiel sighed with relief. "How are things with Benny?" he asked, sitting down. Dean wrinkled his nose.

"We're over. He changed his mind about me when I wouldn't put out. It's whatever, really." Dean shrugged, rubbed his eyes tiredly. Cas tried to hide his smile behind a fake cough, but Dean could spot it anyways in his eyes. Cas smiled with his eyes more than anything else. He had never noticed that before. "What?"

"I, uh... I'm sorry you broke up." He cleared his throat and the smile faded. Dean pursed his lips slightly.

"Cassie, why'd you smile like that?" he asked intently. 

"You know how I feel."

"Do I?"

"I'd expect that you do."

"Do I?" Dean repeated, scooting to the edge of his seat. Cas gulped nervously and glanced at the clock.

"Oh dear, looks like time is up!" he said hurriedly and stood up. He could've sworn that Dean pouted, just for a split second, but it was quickly replaced with the same cocky expression as always. 

"See ya tomorrow, Cassie," Dean grinned and walked out of office. Castiel sighed and slumped into a chair. Tomorrow sure was far away.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean closed his eyes and bit into the sheets, ignoring the filthy grunts of the man that was pumping into him. It hurt. It hurt a lot. With a short jump of his hips, the disgusting older man finished and pulled out of him. He threw crinkled dollars onto the bed, onto Dean's shaking body, got dressed, and left. He just left. Dean sat up. His body felt used. Every step ached. He pulled himself to the bathroom, didn't look at the mirror. His reflection would betray him.

He turned on the cold water in the shower. Hot water was too much. He splashed his face and then stepped in. It poured over him, dripping off of him. The man's... substance... was dripping out of him. He scrubbed himself down. It was a more thorough cleaning than he had had in a long, long time. But his fingers didn't even go below his belly button or above his knees. He knew he had to clean himself, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. 

Dean didn't even realize how much time he had spent in the shower until his fingers started to prune and itch. He stepped out and wrapped himself in the thin motel towel that had probably seen more action than he ever would. He got dressed in the same clothes that the man had torn off of his weakly protesting body. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, but his head was filled with nightmares. He couldn't stop reliving that moment.

Oh, the things a boy would do for money. 

\-----

Dean was sad. That's all he could say. He was sad. He was overwhelmed, and he was sad. When he dragged himself into Castiel's office, he could barely dare to meet his eyes. He tossed himself into his chair and planted his feet firmly to prevent himself from slipping down onto the floor. 

"How are you doing today, Dean?" Cas asked. His chair was closer than usual and their knees brushed. 

"Sad." He barely spoke above a whisper. 

"Why? What's wrong?" Castiel frowned and held his pen at the ready.

"It's Sammy's birthday today," he said quietly. "He's 14." He sounded so empty. Castiel's heart nearly broke. 

"Oh, Dean..." Cas wanted to hug him comfortingly, but he didn't want to overstep his boundaries. Those thoughts disappeared when Dean opened his arms. He sat beside him and held the boy against his chest.

"I just want to know if he's okay. I want to know if he turned out like me," Dean cried. Cas shushed him, rocked him. 

"If he's still in that good family, I'm sure he's okay." An inkling of an idea trickled into his head, spreading out slowly.

"I don't know. I don't know," Dean kept repeating, rocking with Cas gently. 

"Maybe we could... find him?" Cas suggested. Dean looked up at him. His big green eyes were so teary and glassy Cas could see his reflection perfectly.

"You'd do that?" Dean asked, a sweet note of hope in his voice. Cas smiled, ruffled his hair a bit. He was so goddamn cute, it almost made Cas sick. 

"Of course," he said. God, he wanted to kiss him. Dean must've seen it in his eyes because he leaned up as if he was going to kiss him. Cas pulled away. He desperately wanted to feel those soft lips against his, the hard angle of his jaw under his fingertips. He wanted those kisses to quench his thirst for affection. But it was wrong, he was years older than Dean. And he would eventually leave the rehab center. He didn't want to break the boy's heart.

"Cassie..." Dean was nearly pleading, arching up towards him desperately. 

"I can't." He lowered Dean back against the couch, pulled out of his grasp. Dean sighed with exasperation and pulled him right back. 

"You can. Just like this," he grinned and kissed him. Every thought, every dream about this moment for the past two months didn't even come close to how good it felt. They melted together, hands grabbing at clothes and hair anxiously. Dean moaned filthily as Castiel's fingers brushed soft skin. Cas pulled back.

"Jesus, what was that?" he asked, amused. Dean flushed, his ears turning as red as his flannel. 

"Your fingers feel good." He crinkled his nose, shoved him off.

"Just wait," Castiel murmured lowly in his ear. Dean turned even redder and connected their lips again.


	11. Chapter 11

He dragged himself out of a drugged sleep. He had never crashed so hard before. What was that pill called? Lately, he couldn't have enough of it. It distracted him while he was selling himself. Men had been telling him for the past six months that he deserved a better life... as they took their wedding rings off and pounded into him mercilessly, then went home to their wives and children. 

But he made enough money to keep himself relatively comfortable, he bought a new jacket and even some warm fuzzy socks. He rarely indulged, but they were only $1. Amazingly, he hadn't gotten any sort of disease yet. He got himself tested as often as possible. But he wasn't sick, and they weren't sick, so what was the problem?

Every night, he thought of Sammy. He wondered if he was safe, if he was loved. He prayed to whatever God was out there that someday they would see each other again. He couldn't do anything else. So he stayed low, real low on drugs and gave himself away to the highest paying customer. After all, it couldn't last too much longer. He'd get out.

\-----

They kissed, and touched, together for just two short weeks, and just like that, it was over. Dean was gone. Apparently, his treatment had been going so well that the center had decided to pay for a cheap apartment for him. He was moved to a small place just a few blocks from the rehab center. Every day seemed to drag on... and on... and on... until it was finally over. Cas would practically fly from work to Dean's apartment. Maybe they'd eat dinner together, or maybe they'd just talk. 

One day, Cas brought over his favorite knitted blanket and laid it on Dean's bed. It made the whole place feel much more homey. It was a shocking mix of orange and blue, but the colors were starting to fade after years of use. Dean had developed a habit of wrapping himself in it whenever Cas came over. It was starting to smell like teenager and cigarette smoke, but he refused to have it washed, claiming it was comforting when Cas was at work. It was disgustingly flattering. 

"Dean!" Cas knocked at the door.

"It's unlocked!" came a voice from inside. Cas swung it open, arms loaded with roses and groceries. Dean was standing at the stove, vigorously stirring a pot of something that smelled good.

"How domestic is this?" Cas grinned and set the groceries down on the kitchen table. He presented Dean with the red roses. Dean flushed and smiled gratefully. Cas noticed he had dark circles under his eyes as he gently placed them on the counter.

"I, uh... I don't have a vase. I'll find something." He spoke like he was trying to convince himself that everything was okay. 

"Dean? You alright?" Cas asked worriedly. Dean gave him an unconvincing smile and went back to his pot. Cas stared at his back for a bit, then went up and hugged him from behind, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. He dragged his hands up his stomach, onto his toned back, back down his sides. Dean didn't move, stood rigid as a pole, but Cas didn't move. He just stayed, fingers tracing circles into Dean's smooth skin.

"Cassie, I'm not used to being clean for so long," he said after a while. 

"Talk to me," he mumbled. A low laugh rumbled through Dean's chest.

"Remind me why I'm dating my therapist," he smiled and slid his hands over Castiel's. 

"Because you want to tap this ass," Cas replied seriously. They were silent for a second, then burst into laughter. Dean turned around and pinched his cheeks playfully.

"You're lucky you're so damn cute," he grinned and kissed his forehead. Cas grumbled and dipped his fingers into the pot. He pulled them out and sucked them almost seductively. Dean stared at his lips. Cas smiled and pulled away, then started shuffling through the cabinets looking for some sort of substitute for a flower vase. Dean turned the food off and grabbed Cas.

"What?" he purred lowly. Dean pressed against him and Cas straightened up. 

"Bedroom," he commanded. Cas ignored the shiver that arced up his spine, resonating across his skin. But he couldn't get his feet to move. So Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall to the bedroom that was shared more often than not. That knitted blanket was lying at the foot. Dean kissed him furiously and pushed him backwards until the backs of his legs hit the mattress. He lowered himself down slowly- falling back always made him panic- and pulled Dean onto him. 

Dean liked that. It gave him a feeling of power. So he straddled Cas, locking his knees around his slender hips. Their bodies rolled together passionately, lips locking onto exposed skin. Dean unbuttoned Cas' work shirt and tossed it off to the floor. They had never gone much farther than this, but things felt different this time. Castiel's fingers danced up and tugged at the hem of Dean's grey shirt, pulling it up but he couldn't quite get it over Dean's head. They practically giggled as Dean finished taking it off.

"Cas..." he breathed. He truly was beautiful. His chest dipped delicately, his hip bones arched up under his pants. His skin was unblemished, surprisingly pale. Dean felt less than adequate. He was a filthy person. He didn't deserve to have someone so pure under his fingertips. But he pushed those thoughts away. Cas was there, he wanted to be there, he wanted him. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Cas clumsily trying to unbutton his pants. He laughed and unbuttoned them, fumbling briefly then undressing. He stripped down to his boxer briefs, ignoring his rather prominent problem and focusing only on Castiel. It only took a few gentle kisses, touches to the right spots to make him moan. And Dean knew just where to touch.


	12. Chapter 12

The first time he tried heroin, he felt like he was flying. It was nearly orgasmic. His breathing was short and shallow but somehow he felt more calm than ever. It didn't take long to get absolutely fucking hooked. It was always coursing through his system, always on his person. He would rub it on his gums for a quick, short high between hookups. If he had time, he would go through the painstaking process of liquidizing it for a syringe. It wasn't fun, but he would be out of it for hours. 

Lately, he had been doing that during the day to keep his mind at bay. He had dropped 15 pounds in two months. As fun as it was to wander around aimlessly through the night, he had to find somewhere to stay. Nearly a year and a half utterly homeless had given him an uncanny ability to stay somewhere undetected and leave without a trace. So he would slip into warm, dry basements overnight or into empty hotel rooms just to sleep on the luxurious carpet. 

He had once borrowed some nice clothes from a tweaker named Kevin and sneaked into a Marriott. Well, more like he waltzed right in like he belonged. He could play the part. He threw a hissy fit when they said they had no record of him staying there and demanded one free night or they risked a very, very bad review. Of course, they complied. He slept in the puffy bed, engulfed in thick blankets and fluffy pillows. He laid waste to the minibar, but by dawn, he was gone. 

\-----

Cas woke up before Dean. His boy was asleep next to him, snoring lightly. Everything ached. He had given himself over to Dean completely. They had only been together for, what, three weeks? A month? But Cas knew that he cared about him. Loved him? Maybe. No, not yet. But he felt a connection unlike anything else he had ever felt with anyone else. Dean mumbled something in his sleep, his lips barely parted. Cas felt a surge of emotion and leaned forward to kiss him. But he stopped when he heard Dean speak.

"Lisa..." he murmured. Cas frowned. Lisa? Who was that? Not a sister, Dean told him everything about Sammy but never mentioned any other siblings. "Lisa, stay..." Cas wasn't one for jealousy, but this tugged at something deep inside him. 'O beware, my lord, of jealousy, for it is the green eyed monster...' What a time for Shakespeare. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was slightly off, so he laid back and just looked at Dean. His profile was perfect. In sleep, he looked young. The worry lines that had already begun to crease his brow were smoothed. He didn't know how much time had passed before those long lashes fluttered and his eyes opened.

"Good morning," Cas spoke lowly. Dean smiled sleepily and wrapped his arm around him. Cas curled his fingers against his bare chest and didn't return the sweet kiss he placed on his lips. "Who's Lisa?"

Dean tilted his head, propped himself up on his elbow. "Where'd you hear that name?"

"You were saying her name in your sleep."

Dean nodded solemnly. "She's an old girlfriend I had. Tried to get me cleaned up. She ditched me when I nearly got her pregnant."

"I thought you said you were gay?" Cas accused.

"I'm bi but I prefer guys. It's just something about them... I don't know. Cassie, you don't have to worry. I'm with you and it's staying that way for a while," he promised. Cas smiled but he still felt sick to his stomach. 

"I'm sore," he admitted after a moment. Dean grinned, slid his hand across the knotted sheets to Castiel's thighs. Cas shivered. 

"Didn't you say your fingers could work magic? Didn't you mean mine?" he teased. Cas wrinkled his nose- a habit he had picked up from his bratty boyfriend- and got out of bed. He tugged the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around himself. Dean whined and tried to pull it off.

"You saw more than enough of me last night. Calm down," Cas reprimanded. He carried it into the bathroom and dropped it just long enough for Dean to catch a glimpse of him before he shut the door. Then he poked his head out. "Aren't you coming?"


	13. Chapter 13

When Dean met Garth, they were both skinny little dorks with big hollow eyes and an itch that they just couldn't seem to scratch. They told each other nearly everything. Though Garth's disturbing positivity and near-constant drinking drove Dean up the wall and Dean's irritating self righteousness and 'pity party' made Garth insane, they were close. Garth knew everything there was to know about Dean's life before they got taken into foster care. Dean, on the other hand, didn't know much about Garth's past, but was completely up to date with his regular habits and stories. 

Garth knew Sammy's birthday, his favorite food, and Dean's favorite beer.

Dean knew Garth's latest hookup, his least favorite drug, and where he spent his time when he wasn't loaded.

It wasn't the healthiest relationship, but it was better than being alone. It wasn't long after they met that Garth convinced Dean to start selling. He switched from selling his body to selling illicit substances in no time. The money poured in. He even sold to dirty cops a few times. They wouldn't catch him, he switched up his alias. Soon, he was known only as Ghost. Untraceable and he couldn't be found unless he wanted to be found.

\-----

Castiel was almost late for work one day because Dean just would not let go of him. They were snuggled close together, limbs intertwined and hearts beating in sync. It was only when Cas glanced up at the alarm clock when he realized that he was running out of time. 

"Jeez, Dean!" Cas bolted up, or tried to. Dean wrapped a sleepy arm around his waist and pulled him back down. Cas wrestled from his grip as best as he could but it was like they were glued together. Finally, they separated. It took every ounce of self control to keep himself out of the bed. But he got dressed, fixed his hair as best he could, and hurried out. But not before he wrote a quick note to Dean.

Hey, I might be back late tonight, I have some things to take care of after work. I'm sorry. Happy three month anniversary. -Cassie

It felt strange to write 'Cassie' on something, but he knew how much Dean adored that dumb nickname, so he indulged. He lost himself in thought on the way to work. His mind wandered to when he first saw Dean, lying in that drug den on that threadbare mattress without even a blanket to keep him warm. He thought about how beautiful he was while he slept. He thought about how much he loved coming to that apartment, and how his own apartment was in complete disarray since he wasn't home enough to clean it.

He didn't even realize he was at work until he nearly walked into the door. He shook his head, cleared his mind, and headed in. He took a cup of that thin, watery break room coffee and sat in his office. The walls seemed empty. He had recently redecorated, not exactly of his own free will, and everything felt strange now. The little knickknacks that Dean had once adored were on their way to the city dump by now. His boss had told him that he had to take them down because they weren't 'family friendly'. God forbid someone see a ball of sparkly yarn suspended in a wooden cube or even worse, a plain metal tree. But he wasn't one to protest orders, so he took everything down.

"Good morning, Mr. Novak!" His newest patient, a young woman named Meg Masters, was always surprisingly chipper. She was in her early twenties. Her wild dark hair complimented her pale skin, and her dark eyes were vibrant and full of life. She always wore the same leather jacket and a soft purple shirt of varying tones underneath. 

"Good morning, Meg," he greeted her warmly. She slung herself over the patient's chair and grinned at him cockily. He sipped his coffee.

"I got laaaaaaaid," she said proudly. Cas nearly choked. She sure was forward.

"Um... by whom?" he asked curtly. 

"Some guy here." She smacked her gum loudly. He was taken aback but maintained his composure. You'd think that after so long with Dean he'd be used to such crudeness, but no.

"Don't even know his name?" He pulled his lips into a tight smile and wrote down a few notes on his notepad. 

-Comfortable with sexuality

-Comfortable with self

"Nah, it was just a quickie anyways. Don't mean nothing." Meg tilted her head in a very Dean-like fashion and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"Ms. Masters, what are your aspirations after your time here?" he asked in a weak attempt to change the subject. Luckily, she took the bait.

"I want to be a nurse, work in some loony bin. I think I could help the world. I know too many people who've been sent away, and I always knew their diagnosis before the doctors would even acknowledge it," she admitted. Cas perked up.

"A nurse? That's a big dream. I bet you could do it," he complimented.

-Attainable yet high aspirations

"I sure hope so. I mean, I was in college for it when I got sent here. It's not my fault some guy tried to roofie me so I shot him up with some bad heroin I had," she shrugged. 

-Possibly dangerous

"I admire you for your... versatility in such a potentially bad situation." They talked for a while longer, but after Meg, the rest of the day practically flashed by. He couldn't wait to go home.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean had met Lisa before they had been taken into custody. They met at some other kid's birthday party, and even though they were both young, their mothers had joked that they would get married someday. Though he would never admit it, Dean thought they would, too. Then they were taken away, and they lost contact. 

Until one summer day when they were both 17. Dean was prowling the streets for a hookup at night. Lisa was stumbling out of a bar, where she had been kicked out for being underage. She was grumbling, lighting a cigarette, when Dean came up to her.

"You remind me of a girl I knew," he said casually. She barely acknowledged him. "Her name was Lisa."

That really got her attention. "I'm Lisa. Do I know you?" 

"The name's Dean." He stuck his hand out for a handshake, but instead, she crashed into him with a bear hug that seemed too big to come from her skinny frame. 

"I thought you were gone forever!" she exclaimed. Dean took her in, drank in her image. She had long dark hair that reflected the neon lights of the shitty bars. Her wide, white grin made her brown eyes sparkle. He felt a surge of emotion.

"Not me, they can't get rid of me that easy," he smirked. It wasn't long before they were kissing and grinding together in her room at her parents' house, trying to stay quiet. She gave herself over to him. She was his first time. He didn't consider those men that had used him as anything but placeholders. She was his. He had loved her, and those feelings were already growing back.

But the next morning she was gone. A note rested on her pillow. It read, 'Dean, it was amazing to see you again. But I have a boyfriend and I found the heroin in your jacket. It'll be best if you stay away. -Lisa' He was crushed, but he didn't blame her. He was bad news, that was all he would ever be.

\-----

Cas was always a sucker for emotional displays. He reveled in the idea of falling in love and getting married. He delighted in fantasies that romanticized anniversaries and special dates. So, every once in a while, he would give in to those fantasies. He went to the nearby grocery store and bought a bouquet of flowers. He wasn't sure what kinds... so he got a mix of roses, daisies, and peonies. 

What was Dean's favorite meal? he thought. What was it? Oh, shit. Yeah. Those disgusting bacon cheeseburgers from Nellie's Diner down the street. He'd pick some up on the way home. Now what else? Candles. White ones, maybe that smelled like vanilla. The apartment always smelled like man (not kidding) and leather. Dean prided himself in his array of leather jackets. It'd be nice to have a different smell, even for a short while. He gathered up his goods and checked out. The saleslady smiled.

"Some girl's gonna be having a nice night," she commented. He grunted. 

"Yeah, definitely not my boyfriend," he muttered. She blushed bright.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed," she apologized hastily. Cas shrugged and paid for his things. People always assumed he was straight. It didn't even matter anymore. He made his way to the diner, humming some random tuneless melody. 

"Hey, sugar," the waitress greeted him. "Where's that shadow of yours?" She knew them, and it was always strange for him to be anywhere without Dean. They were usually inseparable.

"I'm surprising him. Think you can make me two of those burgers he loves so I can take 'em home?" Cas always loosened up in that diner. Everyone was so friendly. He even seemed to adopt the waitress's warm Southern accent. 

"Sure thing, sugar. Don't you worry," she said. He sat at the counter and she poured him a cup of coffee. "It's on the house," she assured him. They were probably the diner's most faithful customers. It wasn't long before the meals were made, boxed, ready to go. He thanked her, paid for the food, left a generous tip. Cas had butterflies in his stomach, like it was a first date. 

He nearly skipped home, bag of food on one arm, bouquet and candles in the other. Time had flown by though. He usually got home at 6pm- it was nearly 8. He fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Dean was asleep on the couch, wrapped in Cas's knitted blanket. He had a thin stream of drool from his mouth down onto the couch. Cas smiled to himself and began setting up. They had finally bought a vase, a cheap glass thing that just looked like a pipe. But it did the job. He set up the flowers, made them look presentable. He put the food on actual plates instead of leaving it in the Styrofoam boxes. Then, the candles. They flickered to life and it only took a few minutes for their delightful scent to spread through the room.

"Hey, Dean-o." He shook his boy awake. Dean opened his sleepy eyes, pulled Cas in for a kiss. Then he really perked up.

"Did you get food?" he asked. His voice was groggy still, but his eyes were alive.

"Come see," Cas grinned. Dean sloppily wiped away the spit trail on his sleeve and followed Cas to the kitchen. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just cupped his hands over his mouth and stared.

"Oh, Cassie..." He spoke softly. 

"I can go get something else if you-" Cas said hurriedly. Dean shut him up with a kiss.

"It's perfect," he promised. They sat, ate, talked. It felt so human. Castiel felt safe with Dean. He wanted to say that he loved him, now more than ever, but no. That could wait.


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel Novak started off in a good home. His older brothers Gabriel and Michael were rough, as boys often are, but they protected him. His parents had split up when he was just two, the older ones were 7 and 10. His father got full custody, and he soon married a nice young woman that didn't try to be their mom, just their friend. Their dad was never home, so she was always "in charge". Unfortunately, that led to a lot of opportunities for the boys to be wild.

At 15, Gabriel was taken to a juvenile detention center for having weed. He was in there for only 6 months, but the $1000 fine was what really got their dad's attention. He made Gabe and Michael get a job to cover the fee, and little Cas was left at home over the summer with his stepmother, all alone. He was only ten.

She taught him things that no maternal figure should ever teach a young boy. She introduced him to all sorts of ideas and behaviors that would shape his future. She touched him in ways that he had never been touched. He told her no. She didn't care. Castiel tried to tell his father, but he wouldn't believe that his dear darling wife could do such a thing. So she kept doing it, and he couldn't dare to put up a fight.

Until he told Michael and Gabe.

\-----

"God, Dean! Why can't you fucking take anything seriously?!" Cas yelled. Dean stared up at him lazily. His eyes were foggy with alcohol. Dean was supposed to go into the rehab center to check in, as he had to do once a month, but he blew it off and got wasted instead. Castiel was worried so he went home to find Dean naked on the couch, watching porn and barely unable to keep his eyes open. 

"Shhhh..." Dean attempted to press a finger to Cas' lips but he just got pushed away. 

"No! This is a big goddamn deal!" He ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure why he was so worked up. Maybe because Dean wasn't upset at all. He was just drunk. He was underage, and he was drunk. Cas wasn't sure where he had gotten the alcohol because he made sure that there wasn't any in the apartment. But however he got it, Cas had to put a stop to it.

"Cassie, baby, I'm sorry..." he drawled. His voice was thick. 

"Put some goddamn clothes on," Cas muttered. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Cassie!" Dean was a flurry of flannel, and he followed Cas like a puppy. He clutched weakly at his sleeve. "Stay."

"Go sleep it off. I need to go to work." Cas yanked his arm away and headed to the stairs. Dean stood at the top and watched him. 

"I'm coming," he announced finally. He leaped down three by three, but his ankle twisted and he fell in a crumpled heap at the base of the stairs.

"Dean, get up," Cas groaned. Dean didn't move. "Dean. Not funny." Still no answer. "Dean!" Cas rushed over and turned him over onto his back. His eyes were scrunched tight in pain. 

"Ankle," he slurred. Cas' eyes widened and he pulled Dean upright. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he demanded. Dean shook his head. 

"Thank god," he sighed. The bags under Dean's eyes were darker than ever.

"I need help," he said quietly. Cas shushed him, guided him to his car. They drove in silence to the emergency room. Dean watched his ankle swell and turn a sickly shade of purple. "Yuck..." Cas wrapped his arm tightly around Dean's waist and half carried him in. He dropped him off in a waiting room chair and signed in. It wasn't long before Dean was taken back.

"I'm sorry, family only," the nurse scolded. Cas wanted to protest, but instead, he just played on his phone as he waited for Dean. Dean was escorted by a pretty young nurse to a small white room. Her nametag identified her as Martha. Her soft shape and round cheeks made her look warm and inviting. 

"Here," she gestured to the patient's table and helped him up.

"Thank you, Martha," he smiled. She blushed and scurried out. 

"So, what happened?" the doctor asked, poking and prodding at Dean's swollen ankle. He winced.

"Fell down stairs chasing my boyfriend," he explained. The doctor didn't even raise an eyebrow, he just pushed his glasses up over his thinning hairline. 

"Well, it's not broken. Possible sprain, but most likely just severe bruising. If you want, you can wrap it. I recommend keeping it elevated and iced as often as possible," he said. Dean frowned.

"That's it?" he asked. The doctor shrugged.

"You're fine otherwise. Perfectly healthy. Although at your young age, Mr. Winchester, I wouldn't recommend drinking so much," he advised and stood up. "Martha will show you out." Dean tried to return Martha's sweet smile, but felt more like he was baring his teeth instead. 

Cas stood up hurriedly. "Dean, are you okay?" he asked. Dean fumbled over his words for a moment.

"It's a definite sprain," he lied. Cas' eyebrows knit together in worry.

"We'd better get you home then," he frowned and helped him out to the car. Dean ignored the pool of guilt in his belly and let Cas help him wrap his ankle, elevate it, wrap him in blankets, feed him soup and medicine. 

"You're the best," he murmured as he drifted off to sleep. There was sadness in Castiel's eyes, but he was asleep before he could say anything.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: THIS CHAPTER IS GRAPHIC. I WILL RECOUNT ANY AND ALL IMPORTANT PLOT MOMENTS IN THE NEXT CHAPTER IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH READING IT. OTHERWISE, CARRY ON (my wayward son).

"Cassie!" Dean groaned. Cas peeked in the room. 

"Do you need my assistance, sir?" he asked mockingly. 

Dean stuck his tongue out. "Not my fault I hurt my ankle," he muttered. 

"Bullshit, if you had walked down the stairs like a normal person, you would be fine and I wouldn't be your damn servant." Cas sat on the bed and offered a lopsided smile. Dean wrinkled his nose at him. 

"I'm just lonely. Okay? Stay with me," he pleaded. Castiel's smile turned more genuine and he crawled up onto the bed next to Dean. He pulled the covers up around them but Dean kicked them off with his good foot. Cas rolled his eyes and snuggled against him. Dean ran his hand over Castiel's hair gently, threading his fingers through it. He placed a hand under Cas's chin and tilted his head up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. But Cas wanted more. He kissed him back harder, more passionately. Dean tugged at his hair and pulled him on top. Cas rolled his hips slowly and delighted in the moans that escaped Dean's beautifully pink lips. Cas allowed himself to enjoy the little explosions he felt. 

"It's been a while," Dean murmured, sliding his hands over Cas's hips then up under his shirt. His fingers left tingles in their wake. Cas pulled his shirt off and then tugged off Dean's shirt, a little clumsily. He almost got stuck in it. They laughed and kissed again, fingers intertwining. 

"Are you sure you can? I mean, your ankle..."Cas frowned. Dean grinned and flipped them over so he was on top. 

"My ankle is fine, Cassie. The doctor said I didn't even sprain it," he grinned and pinned Cas's wrists over his head with one hand. Cas gasped and tried to wriggle away. 

"You little shit!" he exclaimed. Dean silenced him with a kiss and Cas let him. He dusted his fingers over the rough stubble that dotted his cheeks, his jaw. Dean worked his way down with gentle kisses, those same tingles following his movements. Dean hooked his fingers into his belt loops and pulled down. Cas arched up so Dean could pull them off. 

"I don't know..." he sighed and pawed at Castiel's boxers. 

"Dean, you owe me this much. I've been waiting on you, hand and foot, for a week, and you didn't even need it!" Cas was desperate. Dean grinned up at him. 

"I like when you beg," he said and pulled the boxers off, tossing them back. 

"Please, then." He was breathless. Dean lowered himself between Castiel's legs. 

"Care to grab the lube?" Dean asked. Cas grabbed it from the nightstand and passed it over. Dean covered two fingers, staring at Cas with hunger in his eyes. He pressed one finger in and Cas gasped. 

"Cold!" he panted. Dean shrugged indifferently and began pumping his finger slowly. Cas writhed on the bed. 

"I really haven't fucked you properly in a while, you're tight!" Dean noticed and added another finger. He was right, Cas felt full already. He groaned and moved around on the bed, trying to get Dean to find that one special spot inside him that made him see stars. Dean was searching for it too. He loved the look on Cas's face when he hit it. 

"Aaaah!" He inhaled sharply and took a deep breath. That's when he knew he had hit the spot. He bit his lip with a distinct air of determination and started fingering Cas like there was no tomorrow. Cas buried his face in a pillow, but that barely muffled his moaning. He truly sounded angelic when he moaned. 

"Don't," Dean said softly and pulled the pillow away. Cas stared at him with pleading eyes. Dean pulled his fingers out and wiped the excess lube off on a small hand towel they kept by the bed. Cas groaned at the sudden empty feeling and rolled onto his stomach. His hips rutted against the bed desperately, but Dean put a hand on the small of his back and pressed down to stop him. 

"Dean, either fuck me or let me jack off because I'm dying," Cas grunted. Dean smiled, his lips curling almost cruelly, and stood up. He took off the rest of his clothes and went to the closet. Cas sat up, confused. What was he getting? 

"We're going to try something new," he mumbled and returned with a cardboard box. He set it down at the foot of the bed and pulled out a set of fuzzy blue handcuffs. 

"You're kidding." Cas was incredulous. Dean shook his head and held out the open handcuffs. Cas slipped his wrists in and Dean locked them with a small key. He tugged at the cuffs but they seemed pretty tight. Dean attached the cuffs to the headboard with a chain and flipped Cas onto his stomach. 

"I will definitely enjoy this," he smirked, practically salivating at the sight. Cas mumbled something incoherently, but he ignored it. He positioned himself over Castiel's waiting body and lowered into him. Cas responded with an uncharacteristically high moan.

"Thank god you're a top, you're too big to waste as a bottom," he breathed. Dean rolled his eyes and kissed his shoulder blades, then kept pushing in. Cas arched up towards him, urging him on. Dean gladly took the chance and started thrusting slowly. Castiel's eyes rolled up into his head as he let Dean do whatever he wanted. He wasn't one to fully give up control like this, even as a bottom, and it was a delicious change. 

The sound of skin on skin filled the air. Dean's hips snapped forward to meet Cas, hard, and they were moaning so loudly it was hard to hear anything else. They were both bucking wildly together as an almost animalistic passion filled them. It didn't take long for them to finish with so much pent up emotion between them. 

"Dean, I love you!" Cas shouted as he came. Dean was surprised, but not so surprised that he couldn't finish. He felt himself twitch inside Cas until he was spent. He pulled out slowly and collapsed beside him. 

"You... what?" Dean breathed heavily. Cas didn't respond. They were both silent and trying to catch their breath for a few minutes. 

"Can you take the handcuffs off?" he asked quietly. Dean muttered an apology and grabbed the key off of the drawers. He unlocked Cas, who rolled onto his back and rubbed his wrists. 

"You said you love me," Dean accused. 

Cas wouldn't meet his eyes. "I crossed a line," he nearly whispered. 

Dean was shocked. "I... Cassie, no. I love you. I've been waiting for the right time to say it." He pulled Castiel's sweaty body against his own. The air was sweet. 

"I love you," Cas repeated, heart slowing finally. He allowed himself to succumb to sleep, and not long after, so did Dean.


	17. Chapter 17

"I'll fucking kill you!" Michael whirled out of Castiel's room in search of their stepmother. Gabriel chased after him and Cas peeked out from his room. 

"We can't do anything about it, not yet!" Gabe yelled and yanked him back. Michael's eyes were fiery and his mouth was pressed into a hard line.

"That... that bitch hurt our baby brother! Let me fucking do something about it!" Michael shoved Gabe away. Cas ran from his room, his blue eyes filled with tears. 

"Mikey, I'm okay, I promise," he sobbed. The older two stopped and looked at him. He was shaking. Michael knelt down so they were eye-to-eye.

"Cas, you're allowed to be upset. You're allowed to cry. We're here, and we're going to protect you. Always and forever, okay?" he promised. Cas let the tears pour down his cheeks and wailed into his big brother's shirt. Gabriel rubbed his back comfortingly. 

"I hate her!" Castiel cried. 

"It's okay. You'll be okay. We'll fix this." Michael and Gabe traded a serious look. They would protect their brother. She would never touch him again.

\-----

Cas woke up alone. Dean's side of the bed was cold. He ached everywhere... literally everywhere. He nestled back into the mound of pillows that smelled like Dean and let his mind wander. Last night... oh god, last night. He felt butterflies careening aimlessly in his gut when he thought about how he had been kissed, when he thought about how Dean's hungry touches had claimed him. When he thought about the gentleness in Dean's voice when he said he loved him. 

His cell phone rang suddenly, startling him out of his love-induced stupor. He scrambled around for it, tangled up in the bedsheets. He fumbled for the phone and lazily dragged his thumb across the cracked screen.

"Hello?" His voice was lower, raspier than usual. Jeeeeesus, his morning voice was great.

"Cas, baby, hi." Cas could hear Dean's smile through the phone. 

"Hello, Dean. I love you," Cas replied. He stretched, shuffled to the kitchen for tea if there was any to be found. 

"I love you too, Cassie. I'm off at a job interview, about to go back. Just wanted to check on my special boy," he cooed. Cas flushed.

"Where's the interview?" he asked. He heated up a kettle of hot water and scrounged for tea bags. 

"It's at Bobby's garage, he's an old friend of my dad's, the only link I've got to my past," Dean chuckled. Someone in the background shouted his name. "Gotta go baby, I'll call you afterwards," he promised.

"Okay, I-" Castiel began, but the call ended abruptly. He grunted and poured the boiling water into a mug. It splashed up onto his hand, and usually the heat would make him yelp, but his mind was a million miles away. Dean was getting a job? And Bobby, who was that? How had he never heard that name before? He dunked the tea bag and let it soak. Why was he cold?

Oh. No clothes. Right. He, uh... thank god the windows were closed. He hurried back to the bedroom and grabbed a shirt from the closet. It smelled like Dean, it was comforting. He pulled on his favorite grey sweatpants and a pair of fuzzy purple socks and checked himself in the mirror. He was taken aback. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were bright. He looked alive. It was amazing to see what love could do to a person. 

He ruffled his hair and glided back to the kitchen. He poured milk into his tea and watched it swirl up, then carried it to the couch. He tucked his legs under him and sighed. He let his eyes flutter shut and his mind wander. Dean was beautiful. He really was. Castiel didn't deserve him, even though Dean was a mess. He knew that Dean was still struggling with his addictions. But the light in his eyes was full of hope. His smile was crooked in a truly angelic way.

He had let his mind drift for so long that his tea was cold. He shrugged and set it down on the table, and fished out his phone to text Dean. 'How'd the interview go?' he sent. Barely a minute passed before his phone rang.

"CASSIE I GOT THE JOB!" Dean shrieked into the phone.

"Jesus Christ, babe, I'm proud of you but now I'm deaf in one ear," Cas laughed. "On your way home?"

"Damn right I am. I've got some shit to tell you, too," Dean said and ended the call. Butterflies flew into his stomach and turned to a horrific knot as time went on. God, why wasn't he home yet? A rustle at the door, and it swung open. Dean was covered in oil. His hair was an utter mess. His clothes were ruined. But just the sight of him made everything feel better.

"Dean!" Cas grinned at him. Dean smiled back and walked over. "I love you, but if you sit on this couch with those clothes, it'll be the last thing you ever do," Cas threatened. Dean raised an eyebrow, then smirked, and pulled off his shirt. Then his jeans. Then his boxers. Oh god. He sat next to Cas and used a pillow to cover the important parts.

"Missed me?" he said cockily. Cas whacked his arm. 

"What do you have to tell me?" he asked.

"Okay, so I got the job, but this dude I used to sell crack to showed up, right? And he got all pissed at me, yelling about how I got straight and how I'm working for 'the man'," he used air quotes, "and he started throwing shit. I managed to duck out of the way for most of it, but he tipped over an oil can and I fell right in it. Bobby said I looked like something out of one of those old cartoons with the way I was sliding around." Dean took a deep breath and shrugged.

"Jesus! Are you okay?" Cas demanded. Dean laughed and reached out to touch Castiel's arm reassuringly. 

"I'm fine," he promised. "Now I'm going to go shower, and you should get ready, because I'm taking you somewhere nice tonight."


End file.
